


We Don't Look Back

by Starbird_Ferocity



Category: Badlands - Halsey (Album), Halsey (Musician)
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, Other, This Is STUPID, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbird_Ferocity/pseuds/Starbird_Ferocity
Summary: Loosely based on experience, so this might be a bit too specific.Can you imagine who we would have been without the running?I can. Dead.We lace up those boots, and we never look back. God knows I can't.
Relationships: Narrator/unknown
Kudos: 2





	We Don't Look Back

I swear to god, I need out. Out of the line of fire. Out of the loneliness. Out of this fucking prison where shit is constantly thrown at everyone and everything. I don't *really* trust anyone, except you. You haven't hurt me. Yet. And something tells me you never will, despite my paranoia. 

Your timing is completely off, but no one's is ever right. 

So I take a breath. And another. And one more for good measure. Steel myself, stock my arsenal of verbal weapons, and grasp onto one ray of light to guide me.   
The taste of your lips.  
I step out of my room and start toward the door. It’s blocked. Of course. My siblings are screaming their souls out at each other. So I pretend I’m heading for bathroom.   
The satisfying click of my fingers on the lock. It’s a habit. I drum my fingers on the countertop that I'm reminded isn't mine, waiting, trying my hardest not to let the tears or the fear into my heart. I accidently bump into my mother's makeup box, and her bronzer, lip gloss, and perfume clatter to the floor. Of course I steal a bit. It’s not like she’s here to notice. 

It’s been a couple minutes. Shouldn’t they be done already? Usually someone storms off before it can escalate too bad. I glance in the mirror at my contraband makeup and pretend I feel badass enough to do something I know is a bad idea.   
I open the door.   
And it was a bad idea, bad enough to crack my shield into a million useless pieces. I can’t breathe. It’s like every element contains deadly poison. I gasp a quick, shuddering breath, but that lets in enough to break me. The screaming intensifies.   
Shit.

He’s doing housework while shaming us. It’s the number one trick for guilting us enough so that he doesn’t have to respect us.   
Play the victim, and then on his best behavior when his ex gets home. Except today there’s a new part of the story arc right after the guilt trips. 

I can hear dishes shattering against the wall that separates the “dining room”.  
I hear the emotions running high and desperate in her voice.  
I hear the dull thud of his boots hitting something alive. I lace up my own.  
I’m done. There’s no more light here. Nothing left. I’m going. 

We feel kick-ass in the cold dark of the night, but we keep close, and we’ve still got fear in our eyes.   
There’s no one there to see us, though, so it doesn’t matter.

Until we fall, we keep running, chasing the light like moths flying into fire.

We don't look back.


End file.
